Part 9 (2/2)

Mich.e.l.le grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. ”I knew you wouldn't understand.” She stood and walked into the dining room.

Danica followed. ”Mich.e.l.le, honey, I do understand your worry, but that's not going to happen.”

Mich.e.l.le turned on her with spiteful eyes. ”You don't know that! You can't know that. No one can!”

”That's true, but let's talk about this. Your mom is still in the picture. She might-”

”Right, my mother? Do you even know who you're talking about? She's been in rehab twice. She never sticks around. When she does get clean, it's only long enough to find another nasty, drunk man she can shack up with, and I'm left wondering how long until the next time.” Mich.e.l.le collapsed into a chair. ”My life sucks.”

”Mich.e.l.le, your mom is not in rehab anymore. It was your choice not to live with her this time. She worked two jobs before to make ends meet. It's not that she wasn't there for you; she was providing for you. Raising a child alone is hard.”

”See, you're on her side,” Mich.e.l.le accused.

”No, I'm not. It's just that I'm sure she's doing the best she can, and maybe you should give her a chance. When was the last time you saw her?” She realized Mich.e.l.le hadn't mentioned seeing her in months.

”I'm not going to see her. I'm the teenager! I'm the one who's supposed to do stupid things, not her!” Mich.e.l.le stood and crossed her arms, sobbing and huffing in anger.

Danica threw up her hands. ”d.a.m.n her!” She watched Mich.e.l.le's eyes grow wide. ”How dare she ignore your needs! What the h.e.l.l is she thinking? Who does she think she is?” She crossed her arms as Mich.e.l.le dropped hers.

”What are you doing?” Mich.e.l.le asked in a give-me-a-break voice.

”I'm p.i.s.sed. She put you in this situation. The h.e.l.l with disease or addictions that she can't control. Grow up, Mom!”

”You don't believe that.”

The anger in Mich.e.l.le's voice began to dissipate, and Danica pressed on. ”I'm serious. To h.e.l.l with the crutch of addiction. She needs to grow the h.e.l.l up and take charge of her responsibilities. Your poor grandmother is lying in bed, sick, worrying over her granddaughter and her daughter, and what's your mother doing? Going in and out of some rehab facility, paid for by you know who,” she pointed to Nola's bedroom. ”Probably loving every G.o.d-forsaken minute of that comfortable lifestyle.”

”She can't help it. She's addicted.”

Inside, Danica silently cheered Mich.e.l.le on for standing up for her mother, but she said, ”Yes, she can! She can stop drinking. She can make a decision to stop working so much when she is sober and to be around more for you.”

”You have no idea what you're saying! You're a therapist. You should know addiction isn't a choice!” Mich.e.l.le seethed.

Good. Let it out. ”You said it yourself. A few weeks ago, you said she made those initial choices and she could fix them, remember? What if Nola dies?” She rolled her eyes, pretending to be appalled.

”I was mad. She can't help herself. And Grandma isn't going to die. You're supposed to help me, not freak me out.” Mich.e.l.le stomped back to the living room.

Danica remained in the dining room, arms crossed, hip jutting out like an angry teen. She watched Mich.e.l.le slowly turn around, a smile creeping across her lips.

”I know what you're doing, you know. I get the whole,” she waved her hands up and down at Danica, ”pretending-to-be-me thing you're doing.”

Danica shrugged, then smiled. ”Do you blame me?”

”Yes!” Mich.e.l.le said, then slumped down onto the couch.

Danica sat beside her and put her arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. ”We can't pick our parents, and you do have something to think about. I don't think Nola is going anywhere, but maybe we should go see your mom.”

”I don't want to,” Mich.e.l.le admitted.

”Okay, but remember, you're not alone. Your mom is trying, and this time maybe she's found her way to the brighter side. You'll never know unless you give her a chance.”

Mich.e.l.le didn't respond. She just sank into the couch, moving closer to Danica, and to Danica's surprise, she let her arm remain around her. Danica liked the feel of Mich.e.l.le against her. She remembered sitting in that same position with her own mother, and the comfort it brought was undeniable. She wasn't Mich.e.l.le's mother, but she was glad she was there for her.

After Mich.e.l.le calmed down, Danica spent a few private minutes with Nola. She was lying in her bed, fully dressed, with a blanket across just her lap. Her head was propped up on a pillow, and she was reading comfortably.

”How are you feeling?” Danica asked.

”Oh, not great, but not horrible. I have a bad cold, and it's sort of drained me. I'm fine, really, just very tired. I heard it all, and I feel for her. All that mommy drama can turn any girl inside out.”

Danica partially closed the door behind her. ”How is her mom?”

”It's tough to say. She seems to really be on the straight and narrow now, but, you know.”

”But you've seen her?” Danica took in the doilies on the dresser and the heavy cardigan thrown over a rocking chair in the corner. Did every grandmother own a rocker? The meticulously kept bedroom reminded Danica of her grandmother and of how much she missed her.

”Oh, yes. What do you think I do while Mich.e.l.le is with you?” She set down the book and patted the thin, flowery bedspread.

Danica sat down.

”You know, this comes as no surprise. My husband was an alcoholic. Fifty-two years, until it finally killed him. I hate that Nancy followed in his path.”

”It's not really a choi-”

”I've heard it all, and I get it. It's in the genes or some such thing. I don't really understand it, but I hate it just the same.” She looked toward the window, as if she were watching a memory unfold. ”Nancy is a good person. She was such a good girl growing up. She didn't drink or anything until right after Mich.e.l.le was born. I don't know. Maybe it was too much for her, raising a baby and all. I should have been around for her more.” Nola sat up and put her hand on Danica's leg. ”We do what we can, right?”

”Nola, you lived two hours from her when Mich.e.l.le was born, didn't you? Mich.e.l.le told me about it.”

”Yes, she's right. But mommy guilt runs deep. I try to do right by Mich.e.l.le. She's a good girl at heart. I worry, though, about her drinking like her mother.” Nola picked up a gla.s.s of water from the nightstand and took a sip.

”I worry, too. She's watching her own life unravel around her. I think if we teach Mich.e.l.le about the dangers, the likelihood of it happening to her...She's a smart girl. I think she'll figure it out.” Danica hoped her words were true.

”Or, she won't.” Nola looked at her and shrugged. ”One thing I've learned in my life is that we can teach and hope and pray, but in the end, each person controls their own actions.”

”Would it be okay if I went to see Nancy?” Danica wasn't sure if she'd go through with it, but she was contemplating whether it might help.

”Of course. Nancy is thrilled that you're in Mich.e.l.le's life. I think she really wants to turn her life around, but I also think it's a nasty cycle. Mich.e.l.le's getting older and she disregards her mother, and that sets her mother back. And really, it's Nancy's own fault.” She set down the book. ”Any advice for an old woman?”

Danica sighed. ”I don't know. Keep loving her; keep teaching her.” She looked at the picture on the nightstand of Nola, her husband, and Nancy when she was an infant. ”Better yet, keep loving them both, and keep teaching them both. Everyone needs familial support.” As she said that, she was thinking of Kaylie, not Nancy.

Chapter Nineteen.

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